b soul; but whar you'll run an'
not be weary, an' walk an' not be faint; whar you'll hab a hous'n
builded ob de Lord, an' sit at His table--you' meat an' drink de bread
an' de water ob life!

'I knows you's a sinner, Jack; I knows you's lub'd de hot water too
much, an' dat it make you forgit you' duty sometime, an' set a bad
'zample ter dem as looked up ter you fur better tings; but dar am mercy
wid de Lord, Jack; dar am forgibness wid Him; an' I hopes you'm ready
an' willin' ter gwo.'

Old Jack opened his eyes, and, in a low, peevish tone, said:

'Joe, none ob you' nonsense ter me! I'se h'ard you talk dis way afore.
_You_ can't preach--you neber could. You jess knows I ain't fit ter
trabble, an' I ain't willin' ter gwo, nowhar.'

Joe mildly rebuked him, and again commenced expatiating on the 'upper
kingdom,' and on the glories of 'the house not made with hands, eternal
in the heavens;' but the old darky cut him short, with--

'Shet up, Joe! no more ob dat. I doan't want no oder hous'n but dis--dis
ole cabin am good 'nuff fur me.'

Joe was about to reply, when Preston stepped to the bedside, and, taking
the aged preacher's hand, said:

'My good Jack, master Robert has come to see you.'

The dying man turned his eyes toward his master, and, in a weak,
tremulous voice, exclaimed:

'Oh! massa Robert, has _you_ come? has you come ter see ole Jack? Bress
you, massa Robert, bress you! Jack know'd you'd neber leab him yere ter
die alone.'

'No, my good Jack; I would save you if I could.'

'But you can't sabe me, massa Robert; I'se b'yond dat. I'se dyin', massa
Robert. I'se gwine ter de good missus. She tell'd me ter get ready ter
foller har, an' I is. I'se gwine ter har now, massa Robert!'

'I know you are, Jack. I feel _sure_ you are.'

'Tank you, massa Robert--tank you fur sayin' dat. An' woan't you pray
fur me, massa Robert--jess a little pray? De good man's prayer am h'ard,
you knows, massa Robert.'

All kneeling down on the rough floor, Preston prayed--a short, simple,
fervent prayer. At its close, he rose, and, bending over the old negro,
said:

'The Lord is good, Jack; His mercy is everlasting.'

'I knows dat; I feels dat,' gasped the dying man. 'I lubs you, massa
Robert; I allers lub'd you; but I'se gwine ter leab you now. Bress you!
de Lord bress you, massa Robert' I'll tell de good missus'--

He clutched convulsively at his master's hand; a wild light came out of
his eyes; a sudden spasm passed